Inappropriate Thoughts, John?
by CaffieneScribbler
Summary: Mishmash of fluffy oneshots caused by the wonder that is BBC's Sherlock. If you like random, cracky, fluffy things then this is your story! R & R if you like it x
1. Inappropriate thoughts, John?

Night had fallen quietly on Baker Street, the darkness cloaking the buildings like an inky stole. The day had passed without event, Sherlock finishing a case and relaxing into a sort of post-coital slumber. Not that he'd ever experienced it, thought John, ruffling his newspaper to cover his face even though it wasn't blushing at the thought of Sherlock in that sort of...situation.

Sherlock spoke suddenly, making John jump. "John, either you are blushing or laughing, the cause of which I neither know nor care. However, it is extremely distracting for you to ruffle that newspaper. Please desist."

John rolled his eyes.  
"I saw that."


	2. The Scourge of Estate Agents

A/N: Decided I would make this story into my fluff outlet, especially since I got some lovely reviews for the first chapter. Thanks to the reviewers and to everyone reading this!

The world's only consulting detective was sprawled in an armchair, utterly immersing in reading and not paying any attention to the figure standing in the doorway. Huffing at his lack of recognition, John walked in, a glare on his usually good-natured face. Sherlock still didn't look up.  
"Sherlock."  
No reply. "Sherlock."  
Still no reply.  
"Sherlock! For god's sake!"  
"What?" he replied in a condescending tone, as if scorning John for interrupting his train of thought.  
"You are not to shoot at potential flat renters," said John, pacing in an exasperated fashion. "Mrs Hudson says that they were very likely to move in here!"  
"I wasn't shooting at them." John stood with his hands on his hips and his eyebrows raised considerably higher than usual  
"Oh really?"  
"Yes, really, John, in fact I was shooting at the wall behind them."  
"You can't shoot walls either."  
"Why not? It doesn't hurt anyone."  
"The estate agents will hurt _you _unless you stop doing it."  
Sherlock huffed and went back to his book. "I'd like to see them try." He muttered under his breath.  
John rolled his eyes.  
"You really must stop doing that, you know." Said Sherlock, conversationally.


	3. I knew I should have bought the eBook

"John!"

"What?" said the man in question. It was never a good sign when Sherlock was shouting for him.

No answer. John sighed in exasperation. "Sherlock, what do you want?"

Sherlock put his head round the door of John's bedroom. "What on earth is this book?" he said, brandishing it like a deadly weapon. John's heart plummeted into his shoes. _Please let him get bored and put it back, please let him get bored and_- "I know that it has a certain amount of "hype" on the internet," he said, sketching quotation marks with his fingers "but I have no idea why. Enlighten me?"

John practically leapt through the air and snatched it, sprinted into his bedroom and closed the door. Think, think, think..."No thank you Sherlock, it's quite a boring book really, history of police forces," he gabbled "Why don't you go and do an experiment or something, you've still got those thumbs in the fridge..." His voice tailed off as he hit his forehead repeatedly. Ohgodohgodohgod, if Sherlock looked it up this was going to be embarrassing...

On the other side of the door, Sherlock grinned. John only gabbled when he lied, and he knew that Sherlock hated the police as much as John hated experiments. "Oh dear John, what is this book?" he muttered to himself, and sat down at the computer, typing like a madman.

_50 Shades of Grey..._

His eyes widened in horror.

"JOOOOOOHN!"

A/N: Hope you enjoyed that! Thanks so much to my reviewers, I really appreciate it another thing, will you pretty please visit a blog I do with some other writers? .com and take a look at some of our work? It would help us so much, and I'll keep you informed of new posts in author's notes on here.


	4. I don't care about the New York Times

John was reading on the sofa again. Sherlock's sofa.

"John."

John sighed, disturbed from his book. "Yes, Sherlock?"

"That's my sofa."

"Does it really matter?" He said vaguely, wishing that Sherlock would shut up so that he could relax again.

"As a matter of fact it does, it is at a perfect distance so that no noise will disturb me from the stairs and it also the most comfortable, therefore I require it immediately as I wish to go to my mind palace."

John heaved himself off the sofa with an air of one greatly wronged, and plonked himself down on the other one instead.

"John?"

"What now?" Sherlock looked at him with eyes like a lost puppy.

"Can you get me a glass of water?"

"Why can't you get it yourself?" groaned John

"To reach my mind palace, I must sit undisturbed in a calm environment, on no account must I move-" began the detective in an aggrieved fashion. John shook his head and went to get him a glass of water, huffing to himself before settling back down as if daring Sherlock to say anything else.

"That book really isn't very good, you know." John gritted his teeth in irritation.

"In fact, the New York times said-" Sherlock was interrupted by his usually mild-mannered blogger grabbing him by the collar.

"I don't care what the New York Times said, I am reading and if you disturb me again I may actually kill you."

"I merely stated-" "I don't care." Said John, attempting to keep himself level-headed and instead almost throttling Sherlock. "I have had a long, hard day, in which I have been shot at, thrown across a room, kicked in the shins and been kneed _exceptionally_ hard in the crotch, and all of those things were in some way your fault. Now sit down, be quiet and leave me in peace."

Five minutes later

"You weren't kneed that hard."


	5. Shall we get you a signed poster, John?

"Why do we have to watch this?" Implored Sherlock, sulking on the sofa.

"You may not want to, but I do," said John testily. "It's a great programme."

"No it's not, and I wanted to watch CSI: Miami..." whinged the consulting detective.

"Only so you can criticise it and compare Horatio to Anderson."

"And? It's my turn to choose!" John looked at him, frustrated.

"Sherlock, every night for the last week I have had to watch the same episode of the News at Ten so you can decide whether the presenter is a serial killer." Sherlock rolled his eyes in reply, but John carried on regardless. "And this is a good programme."

"No it's not."

"Yes it is, now be quiet, it's about to start."

"What is so fascinating about the overly dramatic lives of some caterwauling high school students?"

"Sherlock shut up."

"But-"

"BE QUIET!" Sherlock finally complied, and sat sulking again. As the first musical number started- some all-singing, all dancing number with a handsome male lead, he looked from the TV to John and back again. No...

Flushed cheeks, dilated pupils and unless he was very much mistaken, a raised pulse.

He grinned.

"You've got a crush on him, haven't you?" Sherlock said, attempting to stop himself chuckling.

John jumped and looked both embarrassed and surprised.

"No, of course not." He replied, looking down and fiddling with his jumper sleeve. Sherlock's grin widened, John only did that when he was lying.

"Oh yes you have."

"No I do _not_."

"John's got a crush on Blaine Anderson..." he said in a singsong voice, hoping to irritate John so much that he went to his room and left the TV to Sherlock.

It worked.

"No I don't!" Said John, blushing.

"Yeeees you do..."

"Oh for God's sake Sherlock..."

"Shall we get you a signed poster?" Sherlock began to laugh properly now. However, John blushed again. Sherlock didn't believe it.

"..."

"You've already got one, haven't you?" howled Sherlock, rolling around in hysterics.

"Goodnight." A thoroughly embarrassed John made his way to his room, while a still- laughing Sherlock grabbed the remote.

A/N: Blame my playlist for this sickly-fluff, I just can't resist the Warblers, and Darren Criss was singing "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy." Case settled.


	6. Jeremy Kyle, John?

"What are you watching?" asked John nervously. Since the Glee fiaso, he'd been careful to avoid letting Sherlock find out what his favourite programmes were.

"The Jeremy Kyle Show." replied Sherlock, staring intently at the TV.

"Excuse me?" John thought he'd misheard. "Why in the name of all that's holy are you watching the Jeremy Kyle Show?"

"I'm simply attempting to find out why you all watch such mundane, ignorant television programmes," Sherlock responded, unaware as usual that he was being tactless.

"Excuse me? When do I watch 'mundane and ignorant programmes'?" asked John a little indignantly.

"Four in a Bed."

"Yes, well-"

"Come Dine With Me."

"That was one time-"

"Take Me Out."

"Oh come on, that was only because-"

"Snog, Marry, Avoid."

"When have I EVER watched that?"

"Yesterday."

"What, no I didn't-"

"John."

"Okay, maybe once, but it was after I'd almost got shot at."

"He missed you by ten feet, hardly an expert gunman!"

They sat glaring at each other.

...

"Maybe we should go on the Jeremy Kyle Show..."


End file.
